


Focal Point

by dante_alicheery



Series: And we fight the invulnerable tide. [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, The Ritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5154977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dante_alicheery/pseuds/dante_alicheery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corrine Cousland refuses to let the ritual go on without her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focal Point

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished my first run-through of DA:O, and I am still full of feelings. 
> 
> One of them being frustration that there wasn't an option for my Warden didn't get to take part in the baby-making ritual. She and Alistair had been by each other's sides for the entire game! There's no way she would have let him do this alone. So, this is a bit of wish fulfillment on my part, and also me trying to make the ritual less traumatizing for Alistair. 
> 
> The title taken from/inspired by "I Found" by Amber Run. Much of the dialogue is taken from the game and morphed to fit my needs. 
> 
> Warning: Some not-quite-consensual sex ahead. 
> 
> Comments and criticism welcome. And I do hope you enjoy.

"Convince Alistair to lay with me."

Corrine's blood pounded in her ears. She hadn't heard right. She hadn't. There was no possible way on the Maker's green earth that Morrigan would ask such a thing. She and Alistair hated each other, surely Morrigan would rather see him perish. "What did you say?"

"Convince Alistair to lay with me."

Corrine's heart quailed, and she had to close her eyes. _I may not always prove worthy of your friendship,_ Morrigan had admitted, at the edge of the campfire after admitting she had never had a friend before. Andraste, what an understatement. But Morrigan seemed to take no vindictive pleasure in asking, not a rival finally getting what she wanted. She had not even looked disgusted or resigned. She had been sorrowful. Pleading. 

"From this ritual," she went on, feline eyes begging the Warden to understand, "a child shall be conceived within me. This child shall bear the taint, and when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can _absorb_ that essence and not perish. The Archdemon will still be destroyed, and no Gray Warden will have to sacrifice themselves in the process."

Corinne's head was pounding in time with her heart, and it was becoming a struggle to breathe. Maker, if what Morrigan was saying was true…

"Think about what I offer you," the other woman went on. "A chance for you and your beloved to avoid certain death. Or better yet, to slay the Archdemon and _live_. A hero. No Grey Warden has ever done this."

It was too good to be true. Magic came with a price, she had seen it. For some it was lyrium withdrawal, others the attention of demons. Surely even old magic did not come without a trade. "And what do you get out of this?" It came out as a snarl. 

"I get the child. One who will be born with the soul of an Old God. And after all this is done, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."

Alistair's child. Likely the only one he would ever have. Corinne pressed her hands to her stomach. "And do you actually think Alistair would actually agree to this?"

Morrigan inhaled slowly, letting it out. And when she spoke again, it was with all the sympathy she could muster. "If you care for him as you seem to, you will convince him. Consider what the alternatives might be," she implored, and Corinne could no longer meet her gaze. "Do you think Alistair would fail to do his duty as the future king and save his country? Or should you take the blow instead, he loses his Queen. The woman he loves. How do you think he would feel about that? In a forest of devastating outcomes, this is the best option. You must see that." 

Morrigan stood from the bed, coming as close as she dared to the Warden, who still in an anguish of indecision. Morrigan had never known how to comfort, had never found it needful, but by the Lady of the Sky, she wished she knew how to make this easier. She bowed her head. "I think you, of all people, have a great many reasons to tell him to save his own life. To save your own. And I think you should consider them carefully."

It was unassailable logic. When it came down to it, Corrine thought, she wanted Alistair to live. No matter the cost. It was the same logic, the same reasoning she had used when she had gone through with naming him King at the Landsmeet. Anora had the experience, after all, and she manipulated and politicked like she was born to it, while Alistair had never wanted the royal mantle. But Corinne couldn't trust Anora on the throne, and after seeing Behlen immediately behead his rival… well, the coldness in Anora's eye, in her voice as she spoke of Alistair, proved she had been capable of the same. It made sense, as much as it hurt to hear

"Alright. I'll do it," she said at last. The words fell like a gallows door.

\---

Corrine found Alistair in his room, removing the last of his armor, so he was left in a soft grey tunic and breeches. He brightened as she entered and shut the door softly behind her, immediately taking on the teasing, flirtatious air that made her heart flutter so. But now it was an unmoving lump in her chest, and she could not even meet his gaze.

"I see you can't sleep either."

"No. I do not think sleep will come easy this night."

He stood from the edge of the bed, approaching her slowly. "I saw Morrigan outside your room earlier. And the look she gave me… it was icy even for her. Is something wrong?"

"Alistair. We need to talk."

He reached her, taking her hands in his. "Oh. I guess whatever Morrigan had to say… it's big?" She nodded. "I guess this is what I get for becoming King. Everyone always brings you the bad news. So what is it then? Rats running amok? Cheese supplies running low? Tell me, I can take it."

"I love you," she murmured. "You know that, right?"

One of his hands came up to caress the side of her face, to tilt her chin so she had to meet his eyes. So he could see the unshed tears, sparkling there. "Well, that sounds ominous. Whatever it is, you can tell me, love."

"What if…" she swallowed. "What if I told you there was a way we could both live through tomorrow?"

"You mean with the Archdemon, right?" He tried to brighten the air with his humor, as always, and Maker did it cause her to ache. How could she ask this of him? "If you mean running away, I can't do that. But you don't mean that, do you?" She shook her head, and the tears over spilled, one making its way down her cheek to brush against his hand. "What is this about?"

She took a breath to steady herself. "I need you to participate in a magical ritual." That's all it was, she told herself. It doesn't mean anything more than that.

His amber eyes narrowed. "Something Morrigan cooked up no doubt. What is it that you need me to do?"

The tears were flowing freely now, but her voice was level as she forced the words out, one syllable at a time. "I need you to sleep with her."

He laughed. "Cute. This is payback, right? For all the jokes?" But the incredulousness melted when he saw her face hadn't changed, when he saw the ache in her blue eyes. "You're not joking. No, you're actually serious?" His hands dropped away, his head turning to inspect the floor. His face was awash in confusion, in horror. 

After several long seconds of silence, a silence Corinne had to pressed her fist to her mouth not to break, he spoke, voice hoarse. "Wow. Be killed by the Archdemon, or sleep with Morrigan. How does someone make that kind of choice. You're not… you're not actually asking me to do this, are you? What kind of ritual is this, anyway?"

She winced away, but she would not lie. He had to know. And if he refused… well. She had already been prepared to die on the morrow. "I won't lie to you," she repeated, this time aloud, and she forced herself to look at him, jaw set with determination, tears wet on her cheeks. "It will produce a child."

His was reaction was immediate. Horrified. "What? I must be hearing things. Are you telling me to _impregnate_ Morrigan in some kind of magical sex rite?" he yelled, voice loud enough she was sure their sleeping comrades down the hall would hear them. He must have realized it too, for he inhaled, mastering himself before speaking again. "This... this _child._ Why would Morrigan want such a thing? What, does she want an heir to the throne?"

"That you must ask her."

He turned from her, finally slumping onto the edge of the bed, looking lost and angrier than she had ever seen him. "Looking forward to that conversation." He sighed. "Look. Even if I were willing to entertain this idea— and I'm not saying I am— is this really what you want me to do? Are you sure?" He looked up at her, pleading. 

One last chance to say no, to shake it off as a joke. And everything in her screamed for her to take it. 

But if it came down to a night with Morrigan and having him alive— them both alive, together, until the Calling caught them both— well, it wasn't a choice. She moved to his side, though she wasn't yet brave enough to touch him. "You must trust me. It's the right thing to do." The least awful option. 

He reached out first, grasping at her hand with crushing force. "I do trust you. If this is what you think is best." He groaned. "Let's go and get this over with… before I change my mind."

It was he that lead her out of the room, the sound of their feet on the flagstones echoing like a dirge.

\---

Morrigan was waiting for them, staring into the fire as if it had the answers she sought, but she whirled around as they entered. Her mask of arrogance and carelessness had been fitted back on in Corrine's absence, but the Warden could swear she saw the cracks around the edges. It was a small grace to know the apostate didn't like this anymore than they did, though not a comfort at all.

"'Twould seem your talk is done, then?" 

Alistair scowled. "Great, so this isn’t a dream after all."

"What is it to be then?" Morrigan asked, eyes focused solely on her. "Has a decision been reached?"

"Alistair has agreed to your request," she said. Her eyes, still rimmed with red, burned into Morrigan's, and her hands were fists at her sides. 

"Wait," Alistair broke in. "I want to ask about this child. The one you… want."

Morrigan considered him for the first time, cocking her head to the right. "Interesting. Honesty would not have been my first choice."

"I just want to make sure this child won't be a threat later," Alistair snapped, eyes narrow. "I want to know it won't just show up sometime in the future and threaten Ferelden."

Morrigan inhaled, and closed her eyes. She nodded once, acknowledging the fear behind the question. "It will not be a threat, to your throne, to your descendants, or to your kingdom. Of that you have my word."

"Alright, then. Alright. Let's just get this over with," he ground out, taking a step forward. Away from Corinne.

Maker, this was happening. This was really going to happen. Her nails bit into her palms as a howl of anguish built up in her throat.

"Come, Alistair. Let us go somewhere more private," Morrigan was saying, extending a hand, and Corrine heard her as if from a far way off. "Believe me when I say, you will not hate this quite so much as you believe." She started toward the door, Alistair reluctantly following after her.

And then Corinne couldn't stand it anymore. She couldn't allow this. She had to allow this. Andraste's mercy, there had to be something else, anything. She closed her eyes, long enough to bite out one word. "Wait."

Alistair's face fluttered with hope. Morrigan merely raised an eyebrow. "Changed your mind so quickly, have you?"

"No." Corrine swallowed, forcing herself to breathe. Forcing her body to straighten. "No. I merely have a caveat. I will be… involved." 

Morrigan's face flashed through an entire spectrum of emotion— surprise, apprehension, confusion, and then curiosity— more emotion than Corinne had ever seen on the apostate's face. "While Mother did not warn me not to include other parties, the ritual seems very… set, as it is written."

"Then you shall have to accommodate." The tears were gone from her eyes, the waver from her voice. "Do whatever preparation you need to ensure it is successful, but I will not allow you to _fuck_ Alistair without me." He was hers, by the Maker's blood and Andraste's screams. 

"Corinne," Alistair whispered, taken aback by her language as much as by her sudden fierceness. She looked at him with aching eyes. "What are you doing?"

She moved to stand before him, placing herself in between him and Morrigan. She let her hand reach up to caress his face, and forced lightness into her voice. "Teaching you rule number one about being nobility, love. Never send anyone to do what you yourself are not willing to. I swore to remain ever at your side. And I refuse to leave you now."

"Is this because I was too nervous to welcome Isabela into our bed? You'll expand my horizons, by any means necessary?" he joked, but his eyes had gone soft again, and he pressed himself more firmly into her palm.

Corrine couldn't help but smile. Maker, this was why she had fallen for him in the first place. Even in the darkest corners of the world, he could make her smile. "Something like that."

"You don't have to do this."

Maker, watching them. Would that be worse than merely knowing it happened? Harder to put out of her mind? Mayhap, but she stood firm. Alistair would not do this alone. "Yes, I do. I couldn't forgive myself otherwise." The magister was still out if she would ever be able to forgive herself at all. 

"Very well." He leaned in, touching his forehead to hers, taking her hands with his own. "I thank you. For not just… giving me to her."

She laughed low, bitterly, and closed her eyes. For a moment, she just breathed him in, and he her, the hush of Morrigan rapidly turning the pages of her Mother's grimoire and the crackle of the fire the only sounds in the room. 

"Well," the mage said at last. "Adding another to the ceremony shouldn't change its effectiveness any. And if it will make Alistair more comfortable…" Corrine stepped back, turning just enough to catch Morrigan's own discomfort, her anxiousness. "Then by all means. You are welcome. I simply have to set up the ritual."

Corrine gave her a nod of permission, a dismissal if there ever was one, and turned her attention back to her lover.

"I love you, you know," he whispered, amber eyes burning. 

"And I you, Alistair Theirin. Always." 

They stood like that, pressed together, foreheads touching, their hands clasped together, just breathing each other in, until Morrigan tentatively rapped at the doorframe to announce her return. "All is made ready."

Corrine nodded, and stepped away from Alistair, though she did not let go of his hand. "Then let's get this over with."

\---

"Be noble when you must, be kind when you can."

That was her personal motto, she had told him all those months ago in Lothering. That was what her father had taught her underneath the lessons of duty and honor, service and sacrifice. Those were the words he had seen echoed behind her aching blue eyes whenever she was faced with yet another difficult decision, as she fumbled for what was right, the way that would save the most lives, that would hurt the least. As she didn't always choose it. As she spared the life of as assassin. As Zathrian fell to end the curse, as she crowned the bloodthirsty Dwarven prince, as she flatly refused to kill the mages atop the tower, no matter the cost. As she left a little boy in his care with strict instructions to do what they had to, should his demon return, and rode hard for the Circle, on the off chance a family could be saved.

And here, now, as those eyes bore into his own, and he felt a body not her own ride him. This was her kindness, that he didn't have to watch as Morrigan made a sacrifice of his honor. Feeling her against him, around him, keeping at an almost painful pace was bad enough. But he was so grateful that he didn't have to see the witch's head thrown back, eyes closed, enjoying herself well enough as he tasted bile and betrayal thick on his tongue.

The fact that they had to undergo it at all was her nobility. Their one desperate last play, to risk anything to save their lives and the rest of Ferelden, even after one of them plunges a sword into the Archdemon's burning heart. 

It's why he loved her. One of many reasons. The fact that she try to do what was right even as it cut out her own tender heart. That she would try to do the good thing though it might bite at her later. So many others would have done the expedient thing, but she tried so hard to be kind. 

It hurt less, having her here. His head was pillowed in her cotton-covered lap, and he could smell only her, leather and sword polish, the lingering floral perfumes Eamon's servants had poured into her bath. Her auburn hair fell around him, out of its braid at last, as it only ever was in their intimate moments, a curtain to shut out the rest of the world. 

"That's it love," she murmured. Her calloused hands caressed down his chest, skimming lightly against his skin, teasing in the way that made his breath hitch. "Eyes on me. You're doing so well."

Corrine slid her hands back up his chest, then trailed her fingers down his arms. He reached for her then, and she fit her hands into his, holding him down, anchoring him while his hips bucked of their own accord. "So well, love. Just concentrate on me. You're almost there."

Concentrate on her. He could do that. He forced his mind toward their first time together, in her tent. The gentle touches, the tentative questing hands, the constant glances to make sure— _are you enjoying this? Is this alright?_

Neither of them had done anything like that before, beyond stolen kisses in the shadows, the bold one they shared in the Denerim marketplace. He, raised in the Chantry, her the scion of a noble family. Constantly watched to make sure she didn't step out of the bounds of decorum. That she insisted on the rogue's path, fighting for fun rather than merely to protect herself had been bad enough. 

So they taught each other. He remembered the way she had guided his hand into her heat, and, smiling wickedly in the dark, pressed his fingers to the little nub, whispering in between increasingly frantic kisses: "This is the pearl, darling. And if you… oh yes, just like that… just there…" the way her voice had broken when he found the right spot, and delighted, repeated the motion again and again until she was clenching around his fingers, head thrown back and back arching, whispering a mantra of _yes yes yes_.

Maker, the way she had looked in the dim light of the moon coming through the tent fabric, her eyes like beacons, the red of her hair spilling wildly over her shoulders for the first time. Her lips pressure-darkened. The slopes of her breasts, which just fit in his hands. He kissed everywhere he could think of that night, from the tiny upturn of her nose, to the hollow of her neck where he pulse beat, to her navel, where her auburn thatching began again, seeking out each freckle and scar. Marveling at the spectrum of her sights and sounds that even the brush of his lips on a tender spot could elicit. 

After she had recovered from his onslaught, oh, the way she had turned the tables, sliding atop him, pumping his already achingly hard length with one hand, eyes intent on his face to make sure she was doing it right. The way she guided him inside her, riding him until they were both spent and breathless, until he spilled himself within. 

Now, he moaned, ready to do so again, and his love bent down to stifle it with her lips, kissing him through his climax. It was strange, and the angle was wrong, but Maker, it was her. Her lips on his, her hands holding him down.

And the weight on his body eased, and the coolness of the room enveloped him. His ragged breathing became easier. Still, she didn't move until Morrigan murmured, "it is done," and exited their room with all haste. 

As the door shut behind the apostate, the Warden's determination evaporated, and she sagged against him. "I'm sorry Alistair," she whispered against his skin. "I am so, so sorry." 

He rose onto his knees and gathering her in his arms as she started crying, making his heart ache all over again. He buried his face back in her hair as she buried hers in her shoulder, her tears spilling hot against his bare skin. Maker, what had they done to each other?

Corrine, his love and his queen, clung to him, murmuring apologies again and again she was as he stroked down her back, the only comfort he could offer her when he felt scraped so raw inside. 

"We did what we had to," he murmured. It was a small conviction. He just hoped it would be enough.


End file.
